16 August 2011

Catatan Lelaki Tipikal di Hari Raya

Words, they don’t come that easy. Itu yang aku rasakan bila my dear aunt Wirda menyuruhku menulis sesuatu di dalam majalah glamournya. Sebelum aku pergi lebih jauh, ingin ku perkenalkan diriku. I’m just a typical Malaysian male. The man that you see on the street, atau yang sama bergayut di dalam LRT. Too typical. Sehinggakan anda semua tak perlu tahu lebih lanjut. Tapi, hey, lelaki tipikal juga punya citarasa. Kami juga punya banyak cerita. Kadang-kadang kalau diberi peluang (seperti ini), cerita kami juga mungkin menarik. Di sini aku catatkan secebis kisah yang ringkas. Seringkas skirt wanita, long enough to cover the essentials but short enough to keep it interesting.

OK. Topik semasa. Tentang Hari Raya. Di waktu begini sering kita terpandang di muka akhbar akan gambar-gambar ceria para pelajar kita di unversiti luar negara. Dari US, dari UK, dari Eropah, Down Under, Jepun, Jordan dan lain-lain. Kalau gambar itu berlatar belakangkan salji yang tebal, lagi tambah menarik. Bagi mereka yang pernah ke sana, aisyehman, menyampah. Tetapi, tentu juga ada yang rasa sedikit iri hati, atau mungkin terbayang ‘kalaulah aku di situ’. Gambar-gambar ini selalu diiringi caption ucapan rindu buat ayah bonda dan keluarga tercinta. Tapi percayalah, di sebalik wajah-wajah ceria itu sebenarnya tercatat seribu satu kisah suka duka di perantauan.

Di hari raya, terkenang daku kepada si dia 

Kampungku indah nun jauh di sana, ayah serta bondaku


Hati sekeras manapun pasti terusik bila mendengar lagu Dendang Perantau. Terutama kalau benar-benar anda di perantauan. Dan aku, biar macho mana sekalipun kurasakan diriku, air mata sebak pasti mengalir. Rinduku teramat dalam pada kampung halaman nun jauh puluh ribuan batu, pada ibu ayah tercinta dan sang kekasih (kini bekas) yang ditinggalkan. Tetapi hati ini harus cekal. Perjuangan ini harus diteruskan. Kupinjam kata Sudirman:

Rindu hati ini inginku kembali, pada ayah bonda dan saudara 

Tetapi aku harus mencari rezeki, membela nasib kita bersama


Jadi aku, seperti para pelajar lain yang menuntut di satu bandar dingin (dan beku) di sekitar pergunungan dan loch di Scotland, terus bertekad untuk mengharungi perasaan hiba ini di setiap Hari Raya dengan hati yang tabah. Kebanyakan dari kami tak punya cukup wang untuk balik ke Malaysia pada Hari Raya, yang selalunya jatuh bukan pada musim cuti semester. Jadi, kami harus terus bertahan. When the going gets tough, the tough get going.

Kami tak pedulikan keresahan dan kesedihan di perantauan. Kami berpakat dan bersatu hati untuk menyambut hari kebesaran ini. Hari Raya ialah Hari Raya, walaupun di Scotland. Pelajar lelaki akan mengenakan baju Melayu lengkap dengan kain samping songket penuh dan yang perempuan siap dengan baju kurung atau kebaya, tanpa menghirau dingin cuaca. Semuanya kelihatan sungguh anggun, sungguh menawan. Dan ya, sungguh GLAM. Agaknya, mat dan minah saleh tempatan berfikir “Apalah yang sedang berlaku, ada perayaan pakaian tradisional agaknya?”

Dan apalah Hari Raya kalau tak ada juadah Hari Raya. Segala macam masakan dan juadah enak kami sediakan. Ada juga yang kami improvised. Pernah anda dengar lemang aluminium foil? Kami cuba sedaya upaya menyediakan yang terbaik, samada yang asli dan segar, atau sekadar mengggunakan makanan pek dari Brahim’s kiriman dari kampung.

Allahu Akbar, Allahu Akbar 

Walillah Ilham


Kami bertakbir dan bertahmid beramai-ramai di rumah dan di masjid. Sebenarnya di dunia ini, cuma orang Melayu sahaja yang bertakbir Raya dengan suara yang nyaring. Dan orang Melayu saja yang pakai baju Melayu pada Hari Raya, walaupun di negeri orang Putih. Well, orang Melayu jugalah yang ada banyak koleksi lagu Raya. Lagu-lagu raya yang wajib dari Tok Pah, DJ Dave, M Nasir, Sudirman, Fazidah Joned, P Ramlee dan Saloma. Dulu belum ada Tok Siti.

Time flies. Peristiwa beraya di perantauan sudah hampir berbelas tahun berlalu. Kembali ke tanahair, Hari Raya datang dan pergi. Lagu Dendang Perantau dan Dari Jauh Kupohon Maaf masih menjadi kemestian sewaktu Hari Raya. Belum puas membujang, si bonda tercinta sering membayangkan alangkah seronoknya kalau anak terunanya punya teman di Hari Raya.

“Mak carikanlah. Anak Mak ni setuju sahaja.” Hah, sejuk perut ibu bila mendengar anak lelakinya berkata begitu. Syurga di telapak kaki ibu. Aku akan berbuat semampuku untuk menjaga hatinya.

Yes. Memang seronok ber-Hari Raya bila sudah punya isteri. Terima kasih Mak kerana mencarikan aku seorang isteri yang cantik dan serba mencukupi. Cuma, bila hendak menyambut Hari Raya di rumah ibubapa siapa, soalan itu tiba-tiba ia menjadi tanda tanya (pun intended). Yang nyata bukan lagi secara otomatis di kampungku. OK, penyelesaiannya. Tiap tahun kami suami isteri setuju bergilir. Kalau tahun ini beraya di kampungku, tahun depan di kampung si isteri. Kecuali …

“When I’m pregnant, Raya must be at my Mom’s.” Dan di tahun itu, sistem giliran tidak diambil kira. Wow! Lelaki, siapa kata keputusan di tangan kita. Mungkin ya kalau di pejabat atau di bilik mesyurat. Tapi tidak, bila soal nak beraya di kampung siapa. Sepuluh tahun perkahwinan, tolak empat kali pregnancy, bahagi dua.

“Mak rasa kamu dah jarang balik beraya dengan Mak.” Well, dear Mom you are the one who asked me to get married.

Bila bercakap tentang hendak balik Raya di mana, rasa sensitif semacam. Kadang kala erti beraya di kampung sendiri kita rasakan semacam jawapan ringkas panglima Salahuddin al Ayubi bila ditanya kesatria Balian of Ibelin tentang berapa nilai Jerusalem yang dimenanginya dari tentera Salib. It’s nothing, but it’s everything.

Pun begitu, Hari Raya tetap meriah. Terutama bila melayan kerenah anak-anak. Kami punya dua pasang anak-anak yang comel. Merekalah yang paling bergembira bila tiba Hari Raya. Dan siap sedialah para ibu dan bapa saudara sekelian, duit raya jangan dilupakan. Budak-budak ini menerima minimum yang merah, tapi warna unggu amat dialu-alukan.

Untuk Hari Raya, satu kemestian ialah corak dan warna pada baju Melayu dan baju kurung kami anak beranak, pasti sedondon. Sudah sepuluh kali raya kami sudah tak tahu nak pilih warna apa untuk tahun depan. “Ayang, apa kata kita pakai je baju-baju tahun lepas, what do you think?” Sememangnya soalan tadi berani kutulis tapi tak pula berani kuucapkan, walaupun kurasakan betul. Pesan seseorang kepada para suami, “Two secrets to keep your marriage brimming. Whenever you're wrong, admit it. Whenever you're right, shut up.”

“Abang! Ayang dah sedia.” Kulihat si isteri cukup menarik dengan busana anggun baju kurung pesak gantung diperbuat dari kain sutera Thai. “Tapi, yang beropol-ropol tu apa?” Sudah semacam fesyen si pereka yang diundi keluar dalam Project Runway pulak. Sebenarnya si isteri juga complaint kenapa tiap-tiap tahun aku cuma beli baju Melayu Johor (disclaimer: aku orang Perak) jahitan tulang belut sahaja. “That my dear is my prerogative.” Tapi, anak-anak kamilah yang paling teruja. Mereka nampaknya sudah bersedia untuk ber-Hari Raya di rumah datuk dan opah di kampung. Tahun ini di kampung si isteri. So, it’s nothing for me.

Klik! Satu gambar digital keluarga tipikal di suatu pagi Hari Raya nan indah. Senyuman ceria kami seiras senyuman di gambar para pelajar kita di luar negara.

Selamat Hari Raya! Maaf Zahir dan Batin.





-Glam-

04 August 2011

Faraway Places

It’s kind of trepidation, knowing that I sometimes would like to make myself ‘lost’ in solitude and seclusion, far and away from the madding crowd, faraway from everyone. Though, sometimes we did get ourselves lost in the busiest street in the busiest city.

Anyway below are some of the places I’ve been, where I had myself ‘lost’ for a while.

Tiruchchendur, Southern India. There’s abundance of sea coconut trees by the beach. The sea coconut is much (very much) tastier when eaten raw, unlike the preserved version. The beautiful beach is empty. The sand (or was it the pebbles) are multi coloured. It’s where the three great seas viz. the Arabian Sea, the Indian Ocean and the Bay of Bengal meet.

Goteborg, Vastergotland. I love the bread and the Gotland goat cheese. The tram and the Avenyn.

Kharbajaur, FATA near North West Frontier Province (where?). Ever seen snow capped mountain ranges? The hills, the barren land without vegetation. It was the major crossroad on the Silk Road. The tough but really nice Pashtuns people will greet you like brothers. There’s Kalashnikov AK-45 in most of their houses though.

11 July 2011

Daddy Cool

All of you know it, right. 

Every third Sunday in the month of June is dedicated to those who are called fathers. Though in my humble opinion, every day should be father’s day. Anyway, let me write something about my dear father.

I called my father Ayah. And right, my kids called me Ayah as well. Well, except for Ayra. Somehow she called me Daddy.

My Ayah was born in 1932. Those days under the British rule, life was tough. Somehow, though he resided in a remote kampung, he managed to enter the Sultan Idris Training College (now UPSI). Ayah lost his dear mother due to some sort of epidemic (small pox?) where the grandma that I never knew had to be quarantined, until she passed away.

Ayah used to relate me stories how during the Emergency in Tanjung Malim, the bravest were the Askar Melayu. And those written in most of the history books about the heroic acts of the British Army were not entirely true.

Ayah has taught me a lot of things about life. He loves to read. His collection of books is voluminous. He loves to write. Especially letters to his children, and now grandchildren. I too had the pleasure of getting such letters, written in the neat hand-writing (have you seen my scribes … which you’ll fall in love with instantly, his' much better). 

Remember the letter about how he and my mom met my future wife. The ‘bahasa’ was as how a proper letter should be written. Full of ‘ayahanda’, ‘bonda’, ‘nenda’, ‘kekanda’ nomenclatures etc. 


The last letter addressed to me when I was in the UK, "…di sini ayahanda ingin menyampaikan jemputan ke perkahwinan bekas kekasih anakanda …"


I also used to write post cards to him wherever new foreign countries that I went to during my studies as well in my business trips. He was very proud in receiving all the 30-odd postcards from European countries and the US. He even tracked the places I went in the world geographical map.

Ayah taught me the fardu ain. Everyday, I spend like half an hour or so, receiving religious knowledge from him. He used that green book, which I forgot the name. Ayah was gentle to me. I was never being scolded by him. Maybe I was a good boy, and smart too (this I’m sure, my wife would say, it’s because you’re not so healthy then).

Ayah never commented anything about my friends, especially the female ones. But I always remember his word of wisdom with regard to them, "Son, even the tunggul (tree stumps) if you look at them everyday, they will look good." 

Yes Ayah, what’s more if they were beautiful girls. Ok, noted. I will try my best to cast down my eyes, promise you that. Or at least, I try lah ...

He is an honourable gentleman and stays steadfast in his ibadah. Looking at his photos when he was younger, I knew that he was a smart looking guy (yours truly, inherited some ...). 

Imagine this, in black and white. Four gentlemen (one whom is my dad) in their black ties and cool sun shades posing in front of the Tugu Negara. As with many other young guys those days, Ayah also had a scooter. He used to take my mother (in her tight kebaya, I supposed) scootering around the town, maybe like in the movie Roman Holiday.

Now in his 70’s he still in good health (except those little ailments). You know what, his eyes do not need any aid, no reading glasses, no nothing. God bless (unlike me, without my glasses, I’ll be either sleeping or … ).

Dearest Ayah, thank you for being a good father to me. Thank you for teaching me a lot of things about life. May the Almighty bless you and mom with his Kindness and shower you both with His infinite Mercy.

[al-Fatihah, my dear Ayah passed away peacefully on September 4th, 2014)








Breakfast with Dad
(few months before my Ayah passed away ...)



11 July 2010

Syaaban

The last few months or so, saw my non activeness in the outdoor physical activities such as cricket, jogging or at the driving range. The indoor ones however, still …

That, plus work commitment which forced me to participate in endless business lunches and dinners.

These somehow have an adverse effect on my body (my tummy specifically). I’m now beginning to look like a normal early/mid 40s. Though people swear (not kidding here) that I look like at least anything minus six to eight solar years.

Last few days when I measured my weight on those nice electronic weighing machine at the massage chairs outlets at the mall, showed mine at 77 kg. That is 5 kg above my normal reading. To make it more unpleasant, Jay’s weighed about 20 kilos less, that’s over 6 kilos extra. But then, electronics, they are known for what we call glitches, and not to be trusted whole heartedly.

Desperate times call for desperate measures. I saw Jay already started her Syaaban fasting and no heavy meal at night. Even (this is her routine) drinks strictly only to air suam.

Yeap, I’ll soon follow her.

22 March 2010

The Tale of Two Turks (as I was passing)

So, after more than two years I mentioned the country Turkmenistan in this very blog, finally I have the chance to set foot on it. But not before I passed Turkey first.

I took the MAS flight to Istanbul had to overnight there (this is planned) and off to Ashgabat using Turkish Airlines the next day.

- Beautiful ladies at the missing luggage centre at Atarturk Airport

- Someone kind enough to show me a nice & simple hotel (50 euro per night)

- The front desk office named Mohammed who speaks fluent Malay

- The friendly and philosophical US educated carpet seller in front of Blue Mosque

- The majestic Blue Mosque

- Aya Sofya

- Beyazit Mosque

- Elif and Merve, two sweet girls that interviewed me for their school project

- My PETRONAS friends

- Alex and Shakrat

- Guvlev

12 May 2009

Sulaiman the Magnificent

Mentioned the name Sulaiman, my thoughts were always about this, the name ‘man of peace’ in the form of Suleiman the Magnificent, one of the great Sultan of the Ottoman Empire, who conquered the Christian strongholds of Belgrade, Rhodes, and most of Hungary and whose fleet dominated the seas from the Mediterranean to the Red Sea and the Persian Gulf.

And maybe the Prophet Sulaiman, who has been given control over various elements, such as the wind and transportation, and command over the Jinn and animals.

But not this Sulaiman.

I met up with him at the Indira Gandhi International Airport last April. Somehow as I penned my thoughts in my Facebook previously on something wrt the Law of Attraction, the magnetism towards him was damn great. It’s like my thoughts had the energy which attracts whatever that I’m thinking of. That particular day at the airport, I was thinking how to say my prayer in peace*. Then, the Almighty sent me His ‘man’.

What attracted me was initially the way he was dressed. Reminds me of the blessed Sahabah. He dressed in a robe, unlike the typical Tablighi Jamaat brothers or the white ones usually worn by the Arabs. It’s something in between. That nice beard. The nicely trimmed short moustache. The North Face backpack. The slippers (though he later admitted that my Crocs Off Road was better alternative for Jamaat journeys).

My brother Sulaiman was seriously mixed up. He’s an American but has a Caucasian, African and Cherokee origins. And he looks like er, er maybe a Malay. He has a kid from his previous marriage. His wife was from Eritrea (near Sudan). He is now finishing his ‘Alim Studies in one of the madrasah in San Diego, California.

After meeting him while taking wudhu’ in the gents, I got the honour to say the Isya’ prayer with him as the imam. Somehow, the Almighty works in magnificent ways, even my seat in the MAS A320 was next to him. He was on his way back to LA from Delhi, via KL. We chatted (intelligent discourse, I would say), ate the mutton briyani (served by beautiful stewardess) to our filled and said goodbye after Subuh prayer in one of the surau in KLIA.

Jazakallah. Hope to see you again brother.

* previously at the Tom Bradley Airport Los Angeles early 2008, the Almighty also send me one of his slave, just to accompany me to say my solat.


28 March 2009

Somewhere in Greater Tokyo

Kichijoji

When I reached Narita Airport, I felt like I was really lost.

When I took the Japan Railway map, it looked more complicated that the London subway, with more than 2 dozen railway lines, each with different colour coding. But then, I was totally wrong. In fact, it was so damn easy. In fact, the whole system (Japanese system) is really piece of cake.

For example to get to Tokyo Disneyland, I have to take the Keiyo Line which stops at Maihama Station. From there, I proceed to Kichijoji Station via the same Keiyo Line to Tokyo Main Station (with more than six different train integrating to each other) and change to the famous Yamanote Line and onto Chuo Line to Kichijoji.

Things that I realised:

  • The Japs are very trendy lot
  • The train and busses are very efficient to the dot
  • They are very friendly, trying to help even if they don’t know
  • Most of them don’t speak English, or really very bad engrish
  • The tv stations are crystal clear like blue-ray discs
  • The internet is at lightning speed at gigabit per seconds
  • I don’t see any Bangla or Indon around to do odd jobs, all by Japanese
  • They know marayshia

Enjoying spring in Tokyo Disneyland

The Tokyo Train Network

22 March 2009

The Taj Mahal

Akanku kota janji kita
Mendirikan Taj Mahal cinta
Seteguh kasih
Shah Jahan kepada
Mumtaznya
- Nubhan AF6

Unlike the song, the Taj Mahal is too much. Much, much more. Mere words cannot justify its existence.

The Taj Mahal was built by the Mughal Emperor Shah Jahan in commemoration of his favourite wife (wife number 3 for your info), the Empress Mumtaz Mahal. In fact the wife number 1 and number 2 also buried in the Taj complex, but in a very much (very, very much) smaller mausoleums. Some said, he loved her so much because she bears him all his children, where the other twos were barren.

Shah Jahan married Mumtaz Mahal (real name Arjumand Bano), a grandaugther of Itimad-ud-Daula, the Wazir of Emperor Jahangir in 1612. Mumtaz died in 1631 at the birth of her 14th child.

The grief stricken emperor spared no effort in building the tomb in her memory, which is universally acknowledged as one of the most beautiful creation on earth. After his death in 1666, Shah Jahan was buried in a tomb beside his beloved.

Artisans were requisitioned from all over the empire and from Central Asia and Iran. While bricks from the internal framework were locally made, white marble for external surfaces was brought from Makrana in Rajasthan. The building was completed in 1648 after 17 years, at the costs of about 40 million rupees at a time when gold was sold at Rp 15 per 11.66 gram. Now without taking the inflation rate factor, only on the gold pricing alone, the costs would be 40 billion rupees (RM 5.3 billion). However, looking at the intricate and elaborate designs and embellishments, at least it worth 4 times more.

Shah Jahan, grandson of the Emperor Akbar, had a passion for architecture. Under his aegis, Mughal architecture reached its zenith, entering its classical phase. The emperor personally oversaw the building and the architect for the most part is believed to be Ustad Ahmed Lahori.

The Taj plans display strict bilateral symmetry. Every single thing in the Taj complex is symmetrical, except the tomb of Shah Jahan, which was not part of the master plan. The central point is the tomb (rauza) and its four minarets (used for calling azan in those days), flanked by a mosque and an assembly hall (Mehman Khanah … mehman is guests, by the way). The Taj is exactly as wide as it is high (55m) and the height of its dome is the same as the height of its arcade façade. A highlight of the monument is the exquisitely carved pietra dura inlaid with semi precious stones. Some of the stones glow during full moon.

The colour of the translucent marble keeps changing from dawn to midnight, giving it a magical aura in keeping with Shah Jahan’s vision that the tomb and the garden should represent paradise on earth.

To Jay, my dearest wife, the mother of my children, I could not possibly able to emulate to any extent what Shah Jahan did. He’s the Emperor. He’s not even a king, he’s the Emperor. I’m just a man on the street. And of course, Mumtaz had 14 children, you have 4 (itu pun dah handful dah ...).


16 February 2009

Breakfast at Jaring

It has been a kind of ritual. Having my breakfast, on every working day with my sweet Jay at one of the ‘ok’ Malay restaurant in my vicinity.

After sending the girls to school in Subang Jaya every morning, before going to work, I would stop by at Restoran Jaring for some sumptuous ‘sarap’ (says the Bruneian). The other reason is that my dear Waseem, who school’s in the afternoon, loves the charkoi, freshly made by two of the restaurant workers whom speak Thai most of the time.

Anyway, since it’s a kind of routine, I do observed that beside us, there were others (couples) who made it their habit to come to this premises for breakfast.

There’s one couple. I would call them the Easy Riders. Both husband and wife were wearing leather jackets. It doesn’t matter what the wife was wearing (baju kurung, blouse etc.), she will wear the same jacket. Sometimes they rode their Yamaha 350cc, but most of time just the Modenas kapchai.

There’s another couple. They were just office mates I think. The man is very thin. But the lady, my goodness. These two will seat on the same table of four, but perpendicularly to each other, every time, and every morning. I just plainly ignored to have a peek at the amount of food portions on her platter. It’s just too scary. God saves this Contra Couple.

There’s the owner who sits and reading newspaper leisurely. And his wife (I assumed) who took care of the counter, and will count every single sen. This restaurant is not cheap, but the food is not bad.

There’s us. Talking mostly about our kids, the politics, Jay’s ‘cuti dalam cuti’ (a.k.a. master program), me saving the world (my office work), and any odd people coming to the restaurant.

To quote a quote in Breakfast at Tiffany's: ... life's a fact, people do fall in love, people do belong to each other, because that's the only chance anybody's got for real hapiness.


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